tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37457434140137780852015-01-03T14:21:45.385+00:00The Freelance CynicFreelance Listenernoreply@blogger.comBlogger199125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-40242292042259219852015-01-03T14:09:00.001+00:002015-01-03T14:21:45.423+00:00Take the worry out the wedding with a professionally written speech<b>Have to give a speech? Worried about what to say? Beat the fear of public speaking with a professionally written speech</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://freelancespeeches.files.wordpress.com/2014/07/8064877639_8ab69eaaff_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://freelancespeeches.files.wordpress.com/2014/07/8064877639_8ab69eaaff_z.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>After years of writing for fun, I've finally decided to set up a business, and am now offering to write wedding speeches for your next big occasion. I &nbsp;can work with you to prepare your next speech and make it something you'll look forward to delivering.<br /><br />Using my 5 rules of successful speeches I can create the right speech for you. I'll even show you how to deliver the speech, so you can relax knowing everything will be perfect on the big day.<br /><h4>Be a confident public speaker with a Freelance Speech!&nbsp;</h4><ul><li>Free up your time to focus on what you do best&nbsp;</li><li>Beat the fear and enjoy giving your speech&nbsp;</li><li>Trust in every word when you stand up to talk&nbsp;</li><li>Get presentation notes and tips so you can deliver the speech like a pro&nbsp;</li><li><a href="http://freelancespeeches.com/pricing/">Order with confidence: If you don’t like it – it’s free!</a></li></ul><h3>What speeches am I offering?</h3><ul><li><b><a href="http://freelancespeeches.com/price/fatherofthebride/">Father of the bride speech</a></b></li><li><b><a href="http://freelancespeeches.com/price/bestman/">Best man speech</a></b></li><li><b><a href="http://freelancespeeches.com/price/groom/">Groom wedding speech</a></b></li><li><b><a href="http://freelancespeeches.com/price/christening/">Christening or naming ceremony speech</a></b></li><li><b><a href="http://freelancespeeches.com/price/birthday/">Birthday or party speech</a></b></li><li><b><a href="http://freelancespeeches.com/price/retirement/">Retirement speech</a></b></li><li><b><a href="http://freelancespeeches.com/price/eulogy/">Eulogy (Funeral speech)</a></b></li></ul><div>Whether you only have 4 hours or 4 months I can help out with your speech. I can also edit your existing speech for you as well.&nbsp;</div><h3><a href="http://freelancespeeches.com/testimonial/">See what people are saying about Freelance Speeches</a></h3><blockquote class="tr_bq">I want to say that Simon is a wonderful speech writer. He helped me from my first, terrible draft to the very end; a complete and beautiful speech. Thanks to his ability I am also confident now to get up and give my speech! Thank you, Simon. - Jimmy D</blockquote><h3>The story of Freelance Speeches&nbsp;</h3><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://freelancespeeches.files.wordpress.com/2014/07/img_17591.jpg?w=225&amp;h=300" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://freelancespeeches.files.wordpress.com/2014/07/img_17591.jpg?w=225&amp;h=300" width="150" /></a></div><div>I have a nervous stammer and as a child I struggled to talk. Even now, if stressed, I struggle on certain letters. M’s and W’s are my nemeses.</div><div><br /></div><div>So when I stood up to speak at my grandfather’s funeral I was shaking with fear, certain I was going to stumble over my words. But I didn’t stutter once from the first word to the last.</div><div><br /></div><div>The reason? I trusted in the words I’d written and because of that it was easier to find the confidence to speak them out loud.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I sat down again I knew I’d learned something new. &nbsp;The biggest battle with public speaking is finding the right words to say. Every great speech starts with a great script, and I decided to spend my life helping other people find the right words to say as well.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes I still stammer when answering the phone, but I love talking to my customers and finding the right words for them. And nothing gives me more pleasure than when they thank me for helping them to stand up and find their voice.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Freelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-15359984016012210412010-07-27T08:10:00.000+01:002010-07-27T08:10:15.262+01:00Simon is blogging again!Those of you who are still hanging around here, like Tom Cruise hanging on to his last thread of sanity, may be interested to know that I'm blogging again. <br /><br />You can find my new blog, maybe a bit more grown up than this one, maybe just a little bit more sensible, but probably just as full of rubbish as this one is, at <a href="http://www.spiritualatheist.co.uk/">SpiritualAtheist.co.uk</a>.<br /><br />Come and take a look and let me know if I've matured at all over the yearsFreelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-81464424146329969712007-01-15T08:00:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:18.041+00:00The Cycle Cycle<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RbHvRM4MziI/AAAAAAAAAAY/nJQrMJNRTqI/s1600-h/BikeRack.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RbHvRM4MziI/AAAAAAAAAAY/nJQrMJNRTqI/s320/BikeRack.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5022058138288573986" border="0" /></a>I have a habit of buying brand-new, highly desirable (deceivingly cheap) bikes. Other people have a habit of stealing them.</p><p>It started when the saddle from my Boyfriend's bike went missing. To be honest that wasn't so tragic a loss. It allowed him to discover an enjoyable form of transport he may not otherwise have known -- walking. However, when his wheels disappeared one by one it got worrying. What kind of thief walks around with a monkey wrench in his pocket? </p><p>Then the back wheel was taken from my bike.</p><p>Now, my bike is not in the best condition despite attempts to maintain it. I have thrown buckets of oil over it, calibrated the brakes to maximum squeakiness, and pumped the tyres to abdomen hardness. My efforts however have been disappointing. I know now how my parents felt raising me. </p><p>But despite this someone stole a part of it</p><p>The back wheel is the hardest part to remove, but someone took it in the black of night. Yet they left the front wheel, the saddle and the handlebars. </p><p>Why would anyone need a back wheel so badly that they would risk jail and nasty oil stains? Why did they need two wheels and a saddle from my boyfriend's bike but only one wheel from mine? </p><p>I have thought it through carefully and have come, logically, to the following conclusion. </p><p>An evil scientist is at work. Someone with an all in one bike tool is trying to create the ultimate hybrid-cycle -- a three wheel creation with one in front and two driven wheels behind. It is designed to seat a human rider, hence the saddle, yet the lack of handlebars suggest it is an intelligent bike that can steer itself by varying the speed of the rear wheels individually. However, its own intelligence will alienate it from other bicycles and it will be forced into isolation. Lonely and misunderstood by its peers it will harbour resentment for the one that brought it life and all who mocked it. As the months pass in solitude, rust will corrode its frame and hatred its heart, swelling its repulsiveness until it is feared by all on earth. Its wrath will increase until finally, with no one to love it or tell it no, it will rampage all bicycles, mopeds and cars in the world, shredding the technological age to scrap in its gears. And as a grizzly end, it will turn on its creator and all his kind in an inferno of oil and blood.</p><p>To think that my little pushbike, rusty, overused and underloved, should be part of such a detestable thing! It brings a tear to my eye. </p><p>But yesterday, I woke up to discover both our bikes, or what was left of them, missing. There was no evidence they had ever existed, as if they were spirited away to another dimension or removed from public record by the FBI. Maybe then things aren't as bad as I thought.<br /><br />I believe, or I hope, that the great bicycle rapture has come and they have been taken to a better place. With their parts returned, they frolic, rust free, on the heavenly cycle path for eternity,</p><p>That, or they've been melted down and sold as scrap metal.</p>Freelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-85233885036185564202007-01-19T00:00:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:17.656+00:00The Flat Pack Proposal<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RbNvjc4MzkI/AAAAAAAAAAw/9JaGeNEPpuM/s1600-h/Bent_Shelves.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RbNvjc4MzkI/AAAAAAAAAAw/9JaGeNEPpuM/s400/Bent_Shelves.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5022480664286252610" border="0" /></a>We brought a new set of shelves recently from Argos - flat pack. <p></p><p>Now generally I can handle flat pack kits, even enjoy them, providing they are from Ikea and require no hammering. Hammers scare me, kind of like gym instructors. They are both useful in their own way, but loud, and with the potential to cause me pain. </p><p>Ikea's flat pack kits however require no hammering and are idiot friendly. They contain the fewest number of parts possible, are part-assembled in the box, and come with clear diagrammatic instructions. In short, they resemble a 5 piece jigsaw puzzle sold for 2 year olds. </p><p>Argos' kits on the other hand, are the equivalent of a 5000 piece puzzle designed for former Krypton factor masters. The instructions were in French, the diagrams smeared and there was more wood than a German blue movie</p><p>I'm not sure how much time it took us to assemble it. I needed a shave afterwards, but then I always need a shave being directly descended from a silver back gorilla. I was later told that whilst we were screwing it together an entire species of hippo was discovered and immediately made extinct in a remote district of Africa. </p><p>The screws wouldn't screw, the wood wouldn't fit, and the screwdriver wouldn't stay where I put it. There was, of course, a screw missing, (story of my life) but luckily there was a piece of wood missing as well (again, story of my life) so that balanced out.</p><p>Finally, after what I assume was decades of toil we screwed the last screw and, in a moment of history par only to building the pyramids, raised it upright. </p><p>It was beautiful, the veneer shining on the front, each shelf lining up with the others and one side screwed on upside down. </p><p>The whole thing was tilted, the shelves running at an angle to the floor, siding things off and smashing them on the ground below. Art Deco perhaps but not entirely practical. We pulled it apart and pushed it back together the right way, missing two solar eclipses in the process, but the screws had been pushed out of line and the wood chipped; it wasn't the thing of beauty it was meant to be. </p><p>And now it stands in our front room, a dream gone wrong; a useful monstrosity - deformed, off-centre and ever so slightly bent.</p>Story of my life.Freelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-33148967873774725782007-01-21T13:06:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:17.472+00:00Sand Storm in Iraq<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RbNl584MzjI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zwn9tDqjOi4/s1600-h/Sandstorm+in+Iraq.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RbNl584MzjI/AAAAAAAAAAk/zwn9tDqjOi4/s400/Sandstorm+in+Iraq.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5022470055717031474" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.sunbelt-software.com/stu/iraq/sandstorm.htm">Sand Storm in Iraq:</a><br /><a href="http://www.sunbelt-software.com/stu/iraq/sandstorm.htm"> </a>And You Thought the storm we had here on Thursday was bad!<br /><br />Of course, this was probably caused by George BushFreelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-23450096581338692092007-01-21T21:44:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:17.213+00:00NoticeFound <a href="http://www.davidshrigley.com/photo_htmpgs/notice.html">this</a> trawling the web. Although not literally trawling of couse, that would require a Fisherman's Smack - like a normal smack but with a bigger bottom.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.davidshrigley.com/photo_htmpgs/notice.html"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RbPf-M4MzpI/AAAAAAAAABc/yt1Of4gff3A/s400/notice.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5022604269150064274" border="0" /></a><br />I think I used to live with this guy!Freelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-74162185437800317822007-01-26T07:55:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:16.905+00:00Blog WreckI was up to <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ridiculously</span> late on <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Wednesday</span> night working on my blog design.<br /><br />I can't explain why, but it feels good to look at a mass of <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">CSS</span> and <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">XHTML</span> and slowly begin to work out what it's doing. It feels even better to know that none of my knowledge of <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">CSS</span>, <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">XHTML</span> or any useful computer skills came from my Computer Science Degree but rather from Google, <a href="http://www.w3schools.com/">W3</a> and library books.<br /><br />And thanks to my self taught knowledge I can take a simple, but elegant and highly functional template design and turn it into the train wreck you see in front of you.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/Rbm4Hs4MzsI/AAAAAAAAACQ/vvn9gbIS4sY/s1600-h/oldsitenewsite.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/Rbm4Hs4MzsI/AAAAAAAAACQ/vvn9gbIS4sY/s400/oldsitenewsite.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024249301753974466" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I know now how my parents felt raising me.<br /><br />Last night I stayed up late again talking to <a href="http://xandersblog101.blogspot.com/">my Boyfriend.</a><br /><br />It is going to be a very long, very tiring day today...<br /><a href="http://xandersblog101.blogspot.com/"> </a>Freelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-13489354922463020862007-01-27T10:20:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:16.533+00:00Silent Séance<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RbsoBc4MztI/AAAAAAAAACc/gUmWw7OybjI/s1600-h/Sceance.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RbsoBc4MztI/AAAAAAAAACc/gUmWw7OybjI/s200/Sceance.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024653814658813650" border="0" /></a>I’ve recently become an atheist.<br /><br />Like most major life decisions it was influenced by a book. My commitment to Christianity, my conversion to <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/redirect.html?ie=UTF8&location=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.co.uk%2FConversations-God-Uncommon-Dialogue-cover%2Fdp%2F0340693258%2Fsr%3D1-1%2Fqid%3D1169389989%3Fie%3DUTF8%26s%3Dbooks&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;tag=freelcynic-21&linkCode=ur2&amp;camp=1634&creative=6738">spiritualism</a> and my brief flirtation with the <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/redirect.html?ie=UTF8&amp;location=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.co.uk%2FFolk-Faraway-Tree-Enid-Blyton%2Fdp%2F0749748028%2Fsr%3D1-1%2Fqid%3D1169390108%3Fie%3DUTF8%26s%3Dbooks&tag=freelcynic-21&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;linkCode=ur2&camp=1634&amp;creative=6738">Enchanted Forest</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=freelcynic-21&l=ur2&amp;o=2" alt="" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important;" border="0" height="1" width="1" /> were all caused by various reading material. It’s not that I’m fickle, just that I believe everything I read.<br /><br />This conversion was at the hands of <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/0593055489?ie=UTF8&tag=freelcynic-21&amp;linkCode=as2&amp;camp=1634&creative=6738&amp;creativeASIN=0593055489">Richard Dawkins,</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=freelcynic-21&l=as2&amp;o=2&a=0593055489" alt="" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important;" border="0" height="1" width="1" /> <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/redirect.html?ie=UTF8&location=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.co.uk%2FTricks-Mind-Derren-Brown%2Fdp%2F1905026269%2Fsr%3D1-1%2Fqid%3D1169389571%3Fie%3DUTF8%26s%3Dbooks&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;tag=freelcynic-21&linkCode=ur2&amp;camp=1634&creative=6738">Derren Brown,</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=freelcynic-21&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;l=ur2&o=2" alt="" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important;" border="0" height="1" width="1" /> other books that I was lead to by a guiding spirit I no longer believe in, and a healthy dose of logic.<br /><br />It’s left a hole. For 22 years of my life I’ve believed in a make-believe entity. He/She/It (depending on my varying beliefs) gave me support when there was none, listened to me when I was depressed, and found me a parking space in busy car parks. I need God. He’s the only friend I have left, all the others lost by not keeping in touch. I’m not about to lose one more for such a feeble excuse as not believing in him.<br /><br />And so I’ve been desperately trying to find proof of the metaphysical. I’ve researched, conducted experiments and watched Most Haunted but there is nothing that is not fallible to logic, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Occams_razor#Justifications">Occam’s razor</a> and an IQ greater than 100.<br /><br />Finally, I held a séance.<br /><br />There should be at least one ghost in my building. It was built in the 1600’s and used as a workhouse and pottery workshop. I imagine pauper’s ghosts working the treadmills and pottery workers burning to death in the Kilns. But if I told <a href="http://xandersblog101.blogspot.com">my boyfriend</a> I was planning to hold a séance he would freak out, so there was no chance of getting some mediums round to join me. I would have to do it alone.<br /><br />I waited till he had gone to bed and closed the door to my room, drawing the curtains and even turning of my PC, an action in my mind similar to human sacrifice.<br />There were candles on the book shelf, tea lights but I figured that workhouse ghosts wouldn’t be fussed by the quality.<br /><br />I sat down and breathed deeply. ‘Is there anybody here?’ Nothing, I waited, focusing on the candle flame.<br /><br />‘Come on, don’t keep me waiting.’ I’m very impatient even with dead people who are by their very nature quite slow. The room was completely still, not a single noise, not a breath of wind. Just silence and calm like the grave. And then I noticed a candle flickering. Its flame was streaming like it was caught in a gale.<br /><br />‘Is that the best you can do?’<br /><br />There was a tapping on the wall behind me. I spun around, but there was nothing there. Something knocked against the wall opposite me, then next to me, behind me, by my computer, then next to me again. It was getting closer and louder, and harder, closing in on me.<br /><br />I stood up screaming, ‘Who are you!’<br />And at the moment the candle blew out.<br /><br />I ran to the light switch, flicked it on. Smoke was pouring off the wick clouding the room. I walked over to it waving the smoke away.<br /><br />It had run out of wax, burnt itself out. The flickering was caused by the changing wax flow and convection currents from the cooling radiator next to it. The cooling walls caused the taps as the plaster settled and contracted. There was nothing that couldn’t be explained. There were no ghosts, no mystery, <a href="http://badpsychics.com/thefraudfiles/modules/news/index.php?storytopic=4">Most Haunted was faked,</a> and there was no afterlife. Disappointed and lonely, I walked out the room, closing the door behind me.<br /><br />But I swear, that night as I was falling to sleep, something whispered in my ear ‘Good Night.’<br /><br />But that could have just been my boyfriend.Freelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-13521177271993104212007-01-30T07:23:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:16.368+00:00Why Stupid people will kill us all<a target='_new' onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lee.org/journal/this-sign-has-sharp-edges.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/Rb7ytc4MzuI/AAAAAAAAACo/eg1CQoJU7_Y/s400/this-sign-has-sharp-edges.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025721096852000482" border="0" /></a>Freelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-37111881530502123632007-02-01T09:13:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:16.173+00:00Brimful of ShilpaAccording to <a href="http://www.mirror.co.uk/">the Mirror</a> Yesterday, the Queen wants to meet Shilpa.<br /><br />Off course, having not watched Celebrity Big Brother, due to a desire to keep my guts inside me, and not reading the Mirror I can ony gain my news from the headlines on the front page. And the Mirror is not the most reliable newspaper anyway often featuring stories about cats given birth to puppies, and the like.<br /><br />Indeed when the Mirror refers to the Queen they may infact mean Queen Latifa or Boy George depending on how homophobic they are feeling an that particlar day, but I like the idea of the QEII meeting Bollywood's Superstar.<br /><br />A-list Celebrity Shilpa walks up to the Queen of England seated on her throne with her crown on her head. And before HRH Elizabeth II can say a word, Shilpa shakes her hand and asks, 'And what is it that you do?'<br /><br />In the mean time here's some more <a target='_blank' href="http://www.lahr-nsw.de/flash/indiansimpson.swf">animated Racisism.</a><br /><a target="_blank" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.lahr-nsw.de/flash/indiansimpson.swf"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RcGulKb4RaI/AAAAAAAAAC0/q3rgoaypSqQ/s320/SInghsons.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5026490612601865634" border="0" /></a><br />Enjoy, with a touch of cynicsmFreelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-49878158595309640322007-02-03T07:53:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:16.060+00:00And now for something Completely Different..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RcRAbab4RbI/AAAAAAAAADA/6ymPWXtamRI/s1600-h/danC_1491.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RcRAbab4RbI/AAAAAAAAADA/6ymPWXtamRI/s200/danC_1491.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5027213923749217714" border="0" /></a>Before this blog goes any further, let me make something clear. I love <a href="http://xandersblog101.blogspot.com/">my boyfriend.</a><br />I do not say it enough. When I do it sounds silly, babyish or just orgasmic. And I certainly don't write it enough, partly because I imagine most of my visitors would cease reading if each of my entries made them violently sick.<br /><br />But I do love him, and I want to make you understand that. I would write an epic love poem exclaiming my love, but knowing him he would stare at it for a while then roll over and go back to sleep. And so instead I will just say it here one more time. I love him. I love him. I love him.<br />And a large proportion of the time I want him dead.<br /><br />Now those of you already tied into long term relationships, like a submissive into a sling, you know this feeling already, but some of the single, care-free readers I jealously admire may find it harder to understand and get confused when, as is bound to happen, I rant about how much he annoys me and then run into the front room with him to watch the Saturday night takeaway.<br /><br />At no point did I decide to spend my life with someone else. It is a remarkable choice, which invariably affects my life and this blog. And as bitter things are funnier to write about than sweet ones it may seem, most of the time, that I would rather live in a small beach hut on a clump of rock orbiting the moon, than live with my man.<br /><br />This is the problem with themed blogs. If I could be bothered to write a diary like blog of my boring little life that would get maybe 2 visitors a year, they would see a much more balanced view. But I am selfish. And I want viewers. And I also want money, but that seems to be a little harder to get.<br /><br />And so I say it again in pre-penitence. I love my boyfriend.<br />He is annoying, possessive, impulsive, obsessive, and I hate him.<br />And he is loving, funny, caring, giving, damn sexy and I love him, more than anything, ever, in the history of the world, the universe and everything- with the possible exception of this blog.<br /><br />So next time I am knocking him down, slating him off or just bitching about his music taste, remember that after I click publish I still go and hug him whilst watching trash TV.<br /><br />Because that, after all, is what lovers do.<br />Together, forever - or at least until the ad breaks.Freelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-56876387273455511142007-02-05T08:03:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:15.735+00:00Readers' Caption Competition<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RcblWKb4RcI/AAAAAAAAADM/LNBpMuBL2O4/s1600-h/toilet.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RcblWKb4RcI/AAAAAAAAADM/LNBpMuBL2O4/s400/toilet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5027958202926908866" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Gary! Your Prince Albert! Don't go to the toilet!"<br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">- The Freelance Cynic</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></div></div>Freelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-45997684353670389942007-02-07T07:05:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:15.531+00:00Graffiti VandalSo I saw this graffiti in a toilet in the Bristol Galleries the other day...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RcjeJqb4RdI/AAAAAAAAADU/h40C9B238tA/s1600-h/Fat+get.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RcjeJqb4RdI/AAAAAAAAADU/h40C9B238tA/s400/Fat+get.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028513241550570962" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Am I the only person in the world who feels an overwhelming urge to do <i>this</i> to it<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RcjeJqb4ReI/AAAAAAAAADc/zxFkv35v8uc/s1600-h/Fat+Get+Correct.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RcjeJqb4ReI/AAAAAAAAADc/zxFkv35v8uc/s400/Fat+Get+Correct.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028513241550570978" border="0" /></a>Freelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-41793335689959439932007-02-08T08:27:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:14.826+00:00The strange world of Google<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RcrfmrA_NbI/AAAAAAAAADs/HEC8ejMa74s/s1600-h/Freelance+Cynic+Google.gif"><img style="cursor: pointer;" width ='400px' src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RcrfmrA_NbI/AAAAAAAAADs/HEC8ejMa74s/s400/Freelance+Cynic+Google.gif" alt="Freelance Cynic top site on Google Search for 'Argos Flat Pack Bikes'" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029077789387470258" border="0" /></a>Freelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-41063899080523753982007-02-09T07:33:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:14.663+00:00My Life Movie<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/Rcwj-7A_NcI/AAAAAAAAAD4/0tPUndVw1-0/s1600-h/cctv+cam.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/Rcwj-7A_NcI/AAAAAAAAAD4/0tPUndVw1-0/s200/cctv+cam.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029434447766697410" border="0" /></a>So I’m wary of being in public since the prostitutes were killed.<br /><br />It’s not that I’m a prostitute, I’d be out of the price range of most people, nor do I expect to be killed any time soon. If I was going to be murdered I would have been years ago.<br /><br />No, my fear is that the last thing the world will see of me, unless someone posts my autopsy photos on the internet, will be a grainy, unattractive CCTV image.<br /><br />“These are the last images of the victim shopping in the Bristol Galleries, stuffing his face with a triple cheese and bacon burger. Notice the size of his mouth? Reports suggest this was the reason for his kidnapping.”<br /><br />Nowadays I refuse to litter, accidentally bang into people on the street or urinate in alleyways, in case someone adds my last act to my epitath.<br /><br />“In loving memory of Simon Hembra. Died cutting line at the post office.”<br /><br />Daily subjection to ten minutes of captured CCTV footage could be a brilliant way to lower the crime rate.<br /><br />Or at the very least would be better than HollyoaksFreelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-12313244923323064372007-02-10T18:51:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:14.450+00:00Becoming me<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/Rc4ZQLA_NdI/AAAAAAAAAEE/3ZmLn8S2Gc8/s1600-h/rocky+narrator.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/Rc4ZQLA_NdI/AAAAAAAAAEE/3ZmLn8S2Gc8/s200/rocky+narrator.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029985599444956626" border="0" /></a>I would like, if I may, to take you on a rather unusual journey.<br /><br />I sat down the other day (not that sitting is an important aspect, although it would be awkward to do what I did standing up) and realised that somehow my life had gotten off track.<br /><br />Back in Reading I was confident, in a job I loved, and had a friend just up the road from me. In Bristol I'm shy, in a boring job and alienated from the known world. I’m also fat.<br /><br />Clearly something has gone wrong, possibly to do with cheesecake. I have evidence to suggest that <a href="https://www2.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3745743414013778085&postID=1231324492332306437">Cheesecake is in fact the route of all evil</a>, rather than money as was previously believed.<br /><br />Now I’ve tried to change before but lacked the motivation (or the guilt) to see it through. But I have this blog for guilt now and an upcoming shopping trip to London for motivation. And my efforts can be recorded and boasted about for the rest of my life or until hell freezes over, whichever is longer.<br /><br />So I sat down (see note above) and wrote ten steps to finding the old me. Then I crossed out three, added four and combined two together. My London trip is at the end of March so, unless I blatantly lie here, (which I considered for a while) eight steps is too many. I crossed out two more, added three, reworded five and, with a deft pen stroke, deleted two of those remaining. And so finally came up with my <span style="font-style: italic;">Seven Steps to Success</span>. I call it <span style="font-style: italic;">'Becoming Me.' </span>If you can think of a better name - screw you.<br /><ol name="becomingme" id="becomingme"><li>Talk</li><li>Get off the Web</li><li>Get Healthier</li><li>Leave the House<l></l></li><li>Join some Clubs</li><li>Say Yes<br /></li><li>Spoil Myself</li></ol> To celebrate I went out and brought a burger.<br /><br />Over the next seven weeks, with you as my witness, I will make these stupid principles my mantra. Taking on one step each week, and reporting my progress here I will attempt to find something of the Cynic that I left behind in Reading.<br /><br />And failing that I will at least have something to write about for seven weeks.<br /><br />My aim is to make this light-hearted for my readers but a tear-wrenching, emotional-churning, life changing adventure for me. I feel I will succeed on at least one of the two.<br /><br />Wish me luck,<br />And then go on secretly hoping I’ll fail.<br /><br />SimonFreelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-6844877541783512922007-02-11T09:31:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:14.153+00:00Part 1 - Talk<ol name="becomingme" id="becomingme"><li name="bmselect" id="bmselect">Talk</li><li>Get off the Web</li><li>Get Healthier</li><li>Leave the House<l></l></li><li>Join some Clubs</li><li>Say Yes<br /></li><li>Spoil Myself</li></ol><p class="openparagraph">There are many confusing steps on the <span style="font-style: italic;">Becoming Me</span> list, mostly because I invented it during a boring sales call. I imagine however, that none will confuse those who think they know me more than the first – <span style="font-style: italic;">Talk</span>.</p> <p>Talking has never been easy for me.<br />I have a stutter, a small lisp and talk faster than bad news. Generally I write<br />instead. Writing can be edited and it is easier to appear witty when you’ve rewritten your punch lines.</p><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/Rc7oNrA_NfI/AAAAAAAAAEY/uVhctOCX7r8/s1600-h/being+me+Face+Pic.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/Rc7oNrA_NfI/AAAAAAAAAEY/uVhctOCX7r8/s200/being+me+Face+Pic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5030213155402233330" border="0" /></a>But in <st1:city><st1:place>Reading</st1:place></st1:city>, I was a loud annoying bastard. Overconfident in my importance, I forced my way into conversations, dominated discussions and generally pissed people off. It’s a gift I’ve always had, or did at least, hiding my verbal insecurities by talking loudly enough to sound important. It’s a common trick used by many, most notably George Bush.</p> <p>All that changed when I met my boyfriend. It became less important to impress people, because hey, I was getting laid! I would spend evenings in a corner talking to him or eating his face. Love was overpowering. I didn’t need anyone, and they’d still be there if I did, possibly with a sharp stick to prod some sense into me.</p> <p>Overtime I learnt to shut up. It was, although those with teenage children may not believe it, a remarkably easy lesson. I wasn’t special, just one of a couple, the Corbett to his Barker. And I moved to <st1:city><st1:place>Bristol</st1:place></st1:city> unable to lead a conversation, function as a single unit or repair the stubble rash on my chin.</p> <p>In a social society, communication is important for survival and happiness, as well as a good way of getting arrested. If I want to be part of the world again I will have to start acting like it.</p><p>Hence my first weeks aim to start talking again –in four stages. </p> <ol><li>To myself</li><li>To my friends</li><li>To my Co-workers</li><li>To new people.</li></ol> <p>During the next 6 days the blog will be updated with (hopefully) short entries detailing how my various talking adventures are going.</p><p>I hope, if nothing else, they will make your laugh at me, although always politely.<br /></p>Freelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-89335782244306068452007-02-15T09:25:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:13.965+00:00Aversion Therapy<div class="info">Oh, I see! I try to talk to people and you guys get jealous and stop talking to me!<br />Or, maybe I’m just being boring at the moment. Geez…</div><ol name="becomingme" id="becomingme"><li name="bmselect" id="bmselect"><a href="http://freelancecynic.blogspot.com/search/label/bm%20talk" name="bmselect" id="bmselect">Talk</a></li><li>Get off the Web</li><li>Get Healthier</li><li>Leave the House<l></l></li><li>Join some Clubs</li><li>Say Yes</li><li>Spoil Myself</li></ol><p class="openparagraph">So I spoke to people at work. It wasn’t as I imagined. I am, for example, still alive.</p>They were discussing aversion tactics when threatened by a drunken lout. Now, I consider myself an expert on this, having been in several bars and not being beaten up in any of them. Plus, having read <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/redirect.html?ie=UTF8&location=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.co.uk%2FTricks-Mind-Derren-Brown%2Fdp%2F1905026269%2Fsr%3D8-1%2Fqid%3D1171532231%3Fie%3DUTF8%26s%3Dbooks&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;tag=freelcynic-21&linkCode=ur2&amp;camp=1634&creative=6738">Derren Brown's, Tricks of the Mind</a>, I know rather a good way to get out of it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/1905026269?ie=UTF8&tag=freelcynic-21&amp;linkCode=as2&camp=1634&amp;creative=6738&creativeASIN=1905026269"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RdQtMLA_NgI/AAAAAAAAAEo/cSTsJfLBBbU/s200/Derren+Brown.jpg" alt="Tricks of The Mind - Derren Brown" id="Derren Brown" border="0" /></a>The trick is to talk about something completely different. For example, if being threatened with a knife you talk about the monsoon season in Bangladesh. “It rains for months you know! And because they’ve cut down loads of trees everything gets flooded as well. The water is like this high.” The confident randomness makes you appear unafraid and in a place of power whilst confusing your assailant and giving you time to get away.<br /><br />I mentioned this in the conversation, but due to nerves, intimidation and trying too hard to seem intelligent it sounded like this. ‘You know Derren Brown system to it make strange speak no sense make burble-weep.’<br /><br />They looked at me for a moment, confused and intimidated (proving at least that it works.) ‘Yeah!’ they said, and went back to ignoring me.<br /><br />Luckily, there’s a gay guy sitting with our team at the moment so I spoke to him about gaydar profiles and butts instead…<br /><br />That, at least, is something I am an expert on.<img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=freelcynic-21&l=as2&amp;o=2&a=1905026269" alt="" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important;" border="0" height="1" width="1" />Freelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-8706893354740413702007-02-15T22:06:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:13.716+00:00Misinterpretation - Tabloid styleIn the same way a mob of <span style="font-style: italic;">Sun</span> readers stormed a Paediatrician's house, confusing him with the other thing beginning with a 'p', an innocent comment I left on <a target="_blank" href="http://www.esoterically.net/weblog/?p=4464">Esoterically.net</a> has sparked a tangled conversation, complete with accusations of child molestation...<br /><br />Click over to <a target="_blank" href="http://www.esoterically.net/weblog/?p=4464">Esoterically.net</a> to read all about it.<hr />In the meantime, I am working on some funny posts to go alongside my journaled quest for self-actualization. That way those with short attention spans seeking an easy laugh whilst avoiding my personal life challenges (my boyfriend included) will continue reading the blog. I like friends, even if they exist only in the comments section of my online persona and like me largely because I am deranged.<br /><br />I have often wondered why people back off when I start being myself, and having actual feelings like in the <a target="_blank" href="http://freelancecynic.blogspot.com/2007/02/becoming-me.html">becoming me series</a>, and have decided that it must be something to do with having 2 persona. Inspired by <a target="_blank" href="http://www.shinyfire.com/feats/google/google.htm">this site on Google image searching</a> I sought an answer from the worlds <a target="_blank" href="http://freelancecynic.blogspot.com/2007/02/strange-world-of-google.html">most over-rated search engine </a>and asked Google what I would look like as a schizophrenic.<br /><br />The answer, in case you're wondering, was this...<br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RdThH7A_NhI/AAAAAAAAAE0/rcx-LsLB-_k/s1600-h/scizo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RdThH7A_NhI/AAAAAAAAAE0/rcx-LsLB-_k/s400/scizo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031894209896855058" border="0" /></a>...which to me, at least, explains everything...<br /></div>Freelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-69451821106187756282007-02-17T08:21:00.001+00:002008-12-10T08:57:13.564+00:00Grinds my Gears - Part 1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RdYzS7A_NjI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/bIZpTKoi_LM/s1600-h/Traffic+Crossing.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RdYzS7A_NjI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/bIZpTKoi_LM/s200/Traffic+Crossing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5032266033805604402" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">You know what really grinds my gears?</span><br /><br />When I’m at the traffic crossing waiting for the lights to change and a guy comes up and presses the button again.<br /><br />It’s like “Hey! Jackass! I’m right here! You think I’m so stupid I didn’t know I was supposed to press the damn button? You think I’ve never used a pelican crossing before? You think it’s a pay per click thing? Like only the tenth click gets you any money? Or maybe you just think that the button is like your wife’s intimate area and pressing it loads will make the little green man come?<br /><br />“Or hey, maybe I didn’t actually want to cross the street! Maybe I’m standing here because I like breathing in car fumes? Doesn’t that sound good to you? In fact, I didn’t even know that bloody great big box and all them pretty little lights even did anything. I thought it was a miniature version of Broadway right here in my quaint little town. I was just enjoying the show and trying to work out where to buy tickets!<br /><br />“Frigging Jackass.<br /><br />“Hey wait, hey wait a minute! You pressed the button and the light changed. How’d you do that? I’ve been doing it the wrong way? It never changes like that for me! Hey! hey wait…”Freelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-48249944737526361622007-02-18T13:14:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:13.421+00:00Anti-boredom CampaignFound this brilliant video over at <a href="http://thefunhunt.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">THE FUN HUNT!</a> quite possibly my favourite blog on the whole of the web. Next to my own of course.<br /><object height="350" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dye_ibjPY0g"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dye_ibjPY0g" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="350" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/RdhQ9rA_NlI/AAAAAAAAAFo/VrROzo-f3Pw/s200/Sun+18.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5032861604035638866" border="0" />As to my get off the web campaign I've failed already! Go me!<br />Thank goodness failure is the first step to success. Well it is, at least, if you believe George Bush.Freelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-65622061224086763632007-02-24T16:45:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:13.171+00:00The Ingenuity of modern technical design<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/ReBrZ7A_NmI/AAAAAAAAAF0/jiObsUM6DWQ/s1600-h/Tax+Calc.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/ReBrZ7A_NmI/AAAAAAAAAF0/jiObsUM6DWQ/s200/Tax+Calc.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035142476482950754" border="0" /></a>I was calculating my tax codes at work, which is much better than doing what I'm paid for, when I ran out of clean blank paper.<br /><br />Thanks to this site however I was able to carry on with my financial pondering<br /><a target='_blank' href="http://blanksheetofpaper.com/">Blank Sheet of Paper!</a><br /><blockquote>"I was making a paper aeroplane to write a rescue note on after I was captured by terrorists, but had ran out of paper. <a target='_blank' href="http://blanksheetofpaper.com/">Blank Sheet of Paper</a> saved my life."<br /><div style="text-align: right;">- Olivier</div></blockquote><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div>Freelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-63795683361479663472007-02-26T07:58:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:12.998+00:00Why I'm getting Old... Part 2<a target="_blank" href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/0340818867?ie=UTF8&tag=freelcynic-21&amp;linkCode=as2&camp=1634&amp;creative=6738&creativeASIN=0340818867"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/ReKUjz6-JDI/AAAAAAAAAGA/Kmz6932N_Ek/s200/watching+the+english.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035750676307518514" border="0" /></a>I'm Reading <a target="_blank" href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/redirect.html?ie=UTF8&location=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.co.uk%2FWatching-English-Kate-Fox%2Fdp%2F0340818867%2Fsr%3D8-1%2Fqid%3D1172476778%3Fie%3DUTF8%26s%3Dbooks&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;tag=freelcynic-21&linkCode=ur2&amp;camp=1634&creative=6738">Kate Fox's, Watching the Englsh</a> a brilliiant book about the English habits and eccentricties. And I'm trying to make the statements about 'higher class' english people refer to me.<br /><br />'Really sweetums, It's the Sitting-room, not the <span style="font-style: italic;">Lounge!'</span><br /><div class="bordered" style="float: left;"><b>Previous Aging Concens</b><br /><a href="http://www.freelancecynic.com/2007/02/why-im-getting-old.html">Part 1</a><br /></div>Freelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-90400432577691611622007-02-27T06:10:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:12.884+00:00Organic Remains<ol name="becomingme" id="becomingme"><li><a href="http://freelancecynic.blogspot.com/search/label/bm%20talk">Talk</a></li><li><a href="http://freelancecynic.blogspot.com/search/label/bm%20web">Get off the Web</a></li><li name="bmselect" id="bmselect"><a href="http://freelancecynic.blogspot.com/search/label/bm%20health" name="bmselect" id="bmselect">Get Healthier</a></li><li>Leave the House<l></l></li><li>Join some Clubs</li><li>Say Yes</li><li>Spoil Myself</li></ol><p class="<openparagraph&quot;">I don't want to do this too you, I really don't. But I'm so proud I will anyway.<br /></p><p class="<openparagraph&quot;">I'm about to show you some leftover curry and jacket potato, rather in the way that a toddler will shove a potty in your nose and say look what i did! Readers of a squeamish disposition may prefer to look away now and resort to reading the rest of this entry in brail instead.</p><p class="<openparagraph&quot;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/ReNVkj6-JEI/AAAAAAAAAGM/UL0ehcr5Qoc/s1600-h/remain.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 227px; height: 172px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/ReNVkj6-JEI/AAAAAAAAAGM/UL0ehcr5Qoc/s320/remain.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035962894936581186" border="0" /></a>Why, you may ask (you nosey bugger,) am I so proud of my fermenting remains. Well, because they are remains! I have never before walked away from a plate of purchased food without eating every last edible scrap, licking the bowl clean and prising any remaning sustenance away with a a scalpel at the crockery's molecular level. But yesterday, eating slower, enjoying my food and taking my time I felt happy to leave about a quid’s worth of food (two twix bars worth!) simply because I didn't really need it.<br /></p><p class="<openparagraph&quot;">Of course, I could have just written about this rather than subject you to an image of it, but then I might as well use this fancy camera phone for something.</p><p class="<openparagraph&quot;">Isn't it wonderful how technology is enriching our lives...<br /></p>Freelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745743414013778085.post-64309195115640925792007-02-27T20:57:00.000+00:002008-12-10T08:57:12.457+00:00The Ingenuity of modern technical design Part 2<div class="info">If you have noticed any problems with the new domain name can you please comment and let me know. Thank you... </div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/ReScuz6-JFI/AAAAAAAAAGY/ghXWmcXCnXs/s1600-h/Elderly+People.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GVsVdk__XXc/ReScuz6-JFI/AAAAAAAAAGY/ghXWmcXCnXs/s200/Elderly+People.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036322611332523090" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="openparagraph">Walking to the park at lunch an old lady walked up to me and shoved a tangled ball of steel wool in my face.<br /><br />"It's electronic," she said. And then closing her fist around it walked off again.<br /><br />Whatever will those crazy scientists think off next?</p>Freelance Listenernoreply@blogger.com5